


if the sky comes falling down

by madanach



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madanach/pseuds/madanach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco goes down and does not come back up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if the sky comes falling down

**Author's Note:**

> i am in football hell. hell, friends. this is a baby fic but i had to do SOMETHING.
> 
> bonus "everybody is a little bit in love with bastian schweinsteiger" hint bc i, too, am a little bit in love with bastian schweinsteiger

Mario watches, dumbly, as Marco goes down and does not come back up.

It was a standard challenge, Marco throwing himself into the path of the ball as he loves to do, and going sprawling, which is not uncommon. Mario’s seen it happen hundreds of times, a good number of them to Marco himself. He waits expectantly for Marco to shake his head, grin sheepishly, kick the pain out of his leg and take off running. He does not. Instead, he twitches on the ground like a dying animal. Mario has to dig his fingernails his knees to make himself watch, knowing that the reason Marco buries his face in the astroturf even as the Armenian defense gather curiously around him is because he is crying and he does not like to let anyone see him cry. He doesn’t seem to be able to stop the helpless kicking, writhing - yes, writhing - in front of the eyes of the world, and suddenly Mario wants to break every camera flashing on the field, every reporter on the sidelines watching him with headline interest, and scream _can’t you see he’s hurting?_

It’s a relief when Thomas crosses to him, worry written in every line of his face, and calls the medical team over. He can tell that Thomas is talking to him but he can’t for the life of him imagine what he is saying. If he had been on the field he knows he would have come over too late, said the wrong things, and Marco has never held his lack of tact against him but he wishes better for his friend in a moment he knows is crashing down like a wave. Marco rolls on his back and André kneels at his head, cups his face between his hands. Marco’s palms are pressed to his eyes. Mario knows what Marco sounds like when he cries, labored breathing that he can never quite manage to choke down, and wonders if André hears that now. He hopes not. Hope doesn’t seem to be enough, right now.

They lift him up. He stumbles, getting to his feet, throws both arms over the medics, and - God, he won’t even let his foot touch the ground. Joachim stands in front of him with the set of his shoulders that says _this will cost us something._ Mario does not want to think that far ahead.

Marco disappears into the locker room. Mario sits there on the sidelines, watching the spot where he just was, as powerless as he has ever felt.

“He’ll be fine,” Bastian says next to him, quietly, in the voice that means _I do not want to watch anyone suffer,_ and Mario does not believe him for a second.

They win the game. It is no victory.


End file.
